The more we learn, the more we find
so many things are left behind.
Diverted energy, wasted time,
unused reasons, unfinished rhymes.
The brilliant piece I meant to write
defies the paper and takes flight.
Everything I try to do
measures half of what is true.

And yet in nature, perfectly,
grows dandy flower and tall pine tree.
Every blade of emerald grass,
Cobalt sky where sun does pass.
A craggy canyon, tadpole’s tail,
A tiny ant, humpbacked whale.
The stars, a snowflake made of frost —
Once created, nothing lost.

Like Father, I would awe(some) be —
To write and paint in harmony.

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